It Wouldn't be Appropriate
by fiefjsa
Summary: Owen and Cristina definately want each other. But will their careers get in the way?
1. Monday Morning

Cristina walked into the hospital, elated, on Monday morning. With memories of the vent flowing through her head, she couldn't help but smile as she entered the elevator. She stepped onto the surgical floor of the hospital and felt the familiar rush of adrenaline that came with every new day of cutting open bodies. This was what she lived for, but today she found that it was nothing in comparison to the sensation that was Owen Hunt. His lips, his hands, his eyes, even his simple presence sent her head spinning. She scoured the sea of blue scrubs hoping to see the familiar flash of bright orange hair, hoping to finish what he had started in the vent before she got paged, but not luck. Instead George popped up beside her.

"Hey, do you remember Mr. Henry, with the brain aneurysm?"

Of course she remembered hum. Lucas Henry, 42, minor aneurysm in the lower cortex. It was Mr. Henry's unfortunate case that had taken Cristina away from Owens adventurous tongue. "Yeah, I remember him. Why?"

"Well there were complications with his surgery and Sheperd assigned you to monitor him today."

"Great. Thanks." Cristina said dismissively. She was still pre-occupied, scanning the floor, hoping that a pair of intense blue eyes would connect with hers. Hoping that those eyes would follow her into the nearest on-call room and watch as she pulled off her scrubs to reveal the black lace panties she'd adorned this morning, and then watch as she ran her hands up his chest and into his orange hair and-

"Cristina?" George's voice broke into her thoughts, shattering that particular fantasy forever.

"What?" She demanded. Her voice was harsher than she expected. "Sorry." She tried again. "What?"

"Your patient- Mr. Henry- his stats are all over the place, he hasn't been stable since the operation."

"So?"

George rolled his eyes impatiently. "So, if his condition doesn't improve, which it won't, you're scrubbing in with Sheperd. You're going to be operating on a brain while I'm doing freaking stitches in trauma."

Cristina snapped to attention "Trauma? With Dr. Hunt?"

"Yeah, I'm really looking forward to it," George said sarcastically, "maybe if there aren't any patients I can operate on a cow." He joked. Cristina didn't laugh.

"I'll trade you." Cristina tried not to sound too desperate. "You can do the whole neuro-thing and I'll handle the bloody, gross trauma."

"You want to work trauma? You want to do a million non-surgical, time-wasters with G. I. Joe?" Cristina nodded. "Alright…" Cristina knew George wasn't dumb enough to pass up possible surgeries, but even so, she was still just as surprised and thrilled when he agreed.

"Ok." She tried to keep her voice even. "I'll see you at lunch then."

* * *

Owen was awaiting an ambulance when Cristina walked up beside him. He did a double take when he realized that the doctor with him was not, in fact, the resident he had requested.

"Dr. Hunt." Cristina greeted him politely as a small, knowing smile played across her irresistible lips. Owen wished that she wouldn't look at him that was at work. As though she'd tasted his hungry lips on hers and felt his hands slide greddily up her perfectly arched back. He was trying the best he could to be professional, but she was making it nearly impossible. He sighed.

"Dr. Yang. Where's O'Malley?"

"Oh, he switched with me. My neuro-case for trauma."

"You traded a brain surgery for my trauma room?" Owen never imagined Cristina would give up the scalpel for a man and for a second he hoped that maybe there was some other reason-

"I thought it would be more fun to try my luck with Dr. Owen Hunt." The way she said his name made Owen shiver. Everything about Cristina Yang was intoxicating. Owen wasn't one for drugs, but he could easily see himself becoming uncontrollably addicted to the woman beside him. He just wasn't sure if it was healthy or not.

"Meet me in the on-call room after this guy." Owen shouted to make himself heard over the approaching ambulance.

Cristina smiled. She had definitely heard his plans and her mind had already begun planning. It was the next thing Owen said that was drowned out by the siren.

"We need to talk."


	2. We Need to Talk

Cristina entered the on-call room an hour later to find Owen with his back to her, already waiting.

"Hey." She said, her voice full of anticipation for what (she hoped) was to come. She wanted him. Badly. On the bed, on the floor, it didn't matter as long as her lips could meet his.

Owen turned to face her with a grim look in his face. His blue eyes were shielded, uninviting, and as cold as ice.

"Are you alright?" Cristina was worried. She moved toward Owen, one arm extended, but he backed away from her embrace. She stopped, confused at this strange behaviour. "What's going on?"

"This can't happen Cristina." Owen's face was expressionless as he continued. "This relationship- us - it's not appropriate. We work together and if we keeping seeing each other personally, we will never be able to stay professional." Cristina was frozen in place, devastated by what Owen was saying. "This…it was a mistake. I never should have-"

"Never should have _what? _Never should have talked to me? Kissed me? Never should have called me beautiful?" Cristina's voice cracked, but she powered through. "Never should have taken me up to your stupid vent? Pick one of those because all that was you. So which was your _mistake_?" Her voice was filled with venom, ready to kill. She was surprised at how quickly she could shut herself off and put up the boundaries.

"Cristina, I-"

"It's Dr. Yang." Cristina stormed out of the on-call room, fuming and close to tears. A mistake? She was a _mistake?_ She looked for a refuge to hide in before she lost control and become widely known as the hospital cry-baby. The on-call rooms were out- some one could walk in at any time. A patient's room? No, it would take her too long to find a vacant one. When nothing came to her, Cristina entered a stairwell and began climbing, trying to clear her head with exercise. She couldn't handle this. It was Burke all over again. He had started it. Wooed her, pursued her, given her comfort, stability, passion, a chance at happiness, until when she finally came around he'd slipped it all from underneath her, leaving her broken. It had happened again. She couldn't believe that same thing had happened _again._ She had thought Owen was the anti-Burke- impulsive, messy, romantic, but it turned out that they had one detrimental thing in common- they were professionals.

A warm blast of air forced Cristina back to reality and she realized where her feet had led her. She laughed bitterly as she looked around the familiar ventilation room with disgust. IT was only a few days ago that she had been up here last with Owen – with _Dr. Hunt. _She had thought it was so cozy then, romantic, a haven from the world. He had made her laugh here, really laugh. He had helped her clear her head.

Cristina crammed herself in between a heater and the wall before she had begun to cry. She was squeezed so tight and was so deep in the shadows that, for a moment, she could pretend she was in some one's arms, instead of stuck between metal and concrete. She was alone. Burke had left her, at her wedding for crying out loud. Meredith wouldn't be speaking to her because of their fight. And now Owen was gone too. She was a mistake to him, a blot, an accident that could be easily erased with one conversation. Tears coursed down her cheeks. He didn't want to be professional; he just wanted an easy way out of a faulty relationship with a "mistake". She let out a low sob before catching her breath suddenly. Some one came into the room after her. The door clicked shut and Cristina heard footsteps pacing back and forth. Had some one seen her come in here? She couldn't remember seeing any one on her way in, she was so lost in her thoughts. What if they told the chief? She doubted that the ventilation room would be considered an acceptable workspace for surgeons. As if she wasn't in enough trouble with Chief Webber already without trespassing fines.

When she was sure she couldn't be seen, Cristina peeked carefully out from the side of the heater to see who was there. Her stomach plummeted when she saw Owen's –Dr. Hunt's- tense body, standing there, frozen. His back was to her, his hands propped again the wall to support himself. He stood in silence for a moment before slamming his fist harshly into the wall. The sudden noise make Cristina jump, she had never seen him violent like this.

"Ow." He massaged his hand. "Shit." He mumbled. His breath grew shaky and uneven. "SHIT!" He screamed as loud as his lungs would allow and turned so Cristina would see his suffering face. He kicked the wall this time, one foot after the other. "Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit." He sobbed and sank down to the floor.

His desperate tears were more pain than Cristina could bear. Each one that escaped his tortured eyes was like a dagger piercing her heart. "Shit. Shit. Shit." She wanted to go out and comfort him, hold him as close as she could, make his tears stop forever. She made a move to rise to her feet but just as fast as his tears had begun, they ceased and Owen was on his feet and gone.

Cristina slid out of her hiding space shocked and confused. He must want her if he was in this much agony and yet he had ended it. He had seemed so unaffected by her in the on-call room but he was in indescribable pain. She was so perplexed by what was happening, but the thing that surprised her -and scared her - that most was how his tears –_Owen's tears_ – had hurt her more than her own ever would.


	3. Being professional: part one

Owen rode the elevator down from the vent in a trance. He knew what he had done was right. He wouldn't be able to be a proper surgeon with Cristina around. He wouldn't be able to separate his personal life from his professional, which would surely lead to disaster. He had done the right thing by getting out early, not getting too emotionally invested, too involved, too addicted. The elevator reached the surgical floor and Owen took a step out. And yet, perhaps he was more involved than he previously knew. Why else would his stomach be in knots? Why else would he be aching to feel her lips again, to curl her hair around his finger, to hear her laugh out loud because of him? He couldn't remember the last time he had felt this ...conflicted about any one. He had done the right thing. Right?

Owen felt himself tear up with frustration and quickly made a side trip to the nearest on-call room. He had made a reputation as a badass and wasn't about to lose that to a sniffle. He flipped the light switch on, relieved that the room was empty, and sat down on the thin mattress, trying to collect his thoughts and regulate his breathing. He _was _right to have ended the relationship now – breathe in – as much as it hurt, - breathe out – it was nothing compared to what pain he would have felt after a month or two with Cristina. Instincts – breathe in - it was all about instincts. Breathe-

"Dr. Hunt?" Alex Karev's head poked into the on-call room.

"Yes Karev?" Owen asked impatiently. He wasn't in the mood to be interrupted.

"Well, I'm your new resident now, because Cristina felt the need to work on her people skills in the clinic." The clinic? Owen's brow furrowed. "So anyways," Alex continued. "I was wondering if there was anything I could do for you? A solo surgery maybe? Cause you know, I do those now."

Owen smiled. He didn't mind Karev, his cocky attitude reminded Owen of a younger version of himself and he was also kind of relieved that Cristina had switched duties. But there was another part of him that wanted to see her face again, make sure she was alright. "You can go wait for an ambulance, but other than that it's been a quiet day."

"Alright, thanks Doctor." Karev's face disappeared and left Owen in an uncomfortable silence.

He missed her. Twenty minutes alone and already he missed her, her smile, her laugh, just having her beside him. Owen sighed. He missed her lips, her tongue, the way she made his toes curl when she-

Stop. He blinked, trying to focus. He needed to be a professional and being professional did not include fantasizing about co-workers. Well…just one co-worker, with wavy black hair that he could get lost in and eyes that had swallowed him up on more than one occasion and an ass that-

_Stop. _Owen inhaled a ragged breath to steady himself before laying himself down on the narrow bed. He needed a nap, needed to _clear his head_. Owen winced – thinking about the last time he had used that phrase, in the vent. He sighed. She was perfect: smart, funny, sexy, but he just could not allow himself to get involved. The time they had spent together was amazing but he needed to get back to basics. Get back to food, water, shelter, and work. He didn't need her company, didn't need her eyes, or that hair. He wanted them, granted, but he could survive without them. He didn't need them. He didn't need her.

He didn't need her. He didn't need her. Owen repeated this over and over, trying to convince himself of the fact before he finally fell into sleep.

He dreamed of Cristina Yang.


	4. Being professional: part two

"So, you have pains in your chest?" Cristina droned to the elderly woman, Elsa MacDougall, not even trying to hide her irritation.

"Well yes dear, in my chest. It started this morning about 9 O'clock. I thought it was nothing, but my husband, well he's a worrier, he made my come in to make sure it wasn't anything serious. I'm sure it's not but, well at my age, I suppose, it's always best to be on the safe side. I do hope I'm not wasting you time though dear. I know how busy you doctors can get. My nephew is in school to be a veterinarian you know."

Cristina gave to woman a blank stare. "So you have pains in you chest."

"That's right, though I'm not sure-"

"Cristina cut the woman off before she had a chance at another rambling pandemic. "Is it a burning pain or and aching pain?"

"Burning, definitely burning dear."

"Alright, ma'am, you have heartburn. It's not serious. At all, really." Cristina had hoped that the clinic would distract her from what had happened. She had hoped that her brain would be too filled with runny noses and allergic reactions to really process what had gone on that morning, but no dice. All of her patients had had textbook symptoms for textbook illnesses, the flu, a few colds, one scarlet fever, and now heartburn. _Yawn. _Cristina turned back to her patient who was regarding her with an expectant look on her face.

"Is there something wrong ma'am?"

"Heartburn? It's only heartburn?" The woman's expression changed from confusion to concern. "Are you sure that it's only heartburn, dear?"

"That's what your symptoms lead me to believe." Cristina gave the woman a tight smile. "Take some Tums and if the pain continues, come back and we'll get you a prescription."

"Alright then, thank you dear." Elsa smiled as she delicately lowered herself down from the hospital bed.

"It's not a problem Mrs. MacDougall. Have a nice day." Cristina lead the woman to the clinic's glass doors and returned to fill out Elsa's chart.

"Ooh. Have a nice day." Izzie remarked from behind Cristina. "Alex was right, you really do want to work on your bedside manner!"

"Shut up." Cristina snapped. "Where did you come from anyways?" It wasn't like Izzie to make surprise calls to Cristina's side.

"Uh…I've been in the clinic this entire time. Got here at 8 and have been working right beside you ever since." Izzie shot her a strange look. "Shows how observant you are."

She sighed. "I don't know. I was just focused on my work I guess…" Cristina knew very well why she hadn't noticed Izzie, she had been too pre-occupied with he own thoughts about Dr. Hunt, _the professional,_ to consider any one else's existence.

"Focused on your work? You had a cold and a sore throat, how does that require any focus from the great Cristina Yang?"

Cristina burrowed her head in Elsa MacDougall's chart, hoping Izzie would just walk away. When she held her ground, Cristina relented. "I don't know. My patients were…" Cristina flashed through all the people she helped today, trying to come up with a concrete detail, but it was all a blur. A blur with orange hair. "…confusing. And I - " The blur now had electric blue eyes. "- cared about them more than I thought I would and - " The blur was gaining focus, much to Cristina's chagrin. "- I just need time to think about it all." Cristina looked to find Izzie staring at her, eyes wide with confusion.

"_What?"_

"Look, I'm really tired." It was a lame excuse, but Cristina wasn't about to spill her guts here. At least not to warm-and-fuzzy-Izzie. "I'm going for lunch, ok?"

"But it's only 10:30." Cristina was definitely getting some weird looks from Izzie Stevens.

"Oh. Well, alright then." Cristina hopped up on the hospital bed and looked towards the empty waiting room. It figures that the one day Cristina wanted an over load of angry patients was the day that there was no business.

Izzie eyed Cristina wearily. "Seriously, what's going on? Where are your sarcastic remarks and your mean…ness? Are you Ok?'

"Yeah, don't worry about it Izzie. Everything is just spectacular. Fucking spectacular."


	5. Advice

Cristina sat alone in the cafeteria picking bitterly at her spinach salad. It was 11:30, an early lunch, but she had needed to get out of the clinic. She really, sincerely tried to confide in Izzie, form a new friendship, perhaps discover a kindred spirit or something, but staring into those big, optimistic, happy-go-lucky eyes trying to compare a fertilizing agent to life was just too much for Cristina to handle. After 45 minutes of Izzie _guessing _what was making her so blue, Cristina had made up a story about her cat dying and excused herself.

She needed some one to talk to, some one to help her figure all this Owen – _Dr. Hunt, _she scolded herself, stuff out. Cristina popped a cherry tomato into her mouth and bit down hard. She needed Meredith. Although she was still upset the she hadn't defended her, Cristina had to resign to the fact that Meredith was literally the only person able to help her right now. She knew that Meredith would understand what was going through her ead and be able to sort out all the confusion and come up with a sensible solution; God knows Cristina wouldn't be able to do it herself. It was one of the (very) few moments in Cristina's life where she simply did not know what to do. She was so utterly perplexed and what had gone on today. First, Owen end whatever relationship they had without a second thought, but then he has a mental breakdown in the vent about half a minute later. Was he upset because he _did _want to keep their relationship going? That's what Cristina had thought before but she was beginning to doubt herself (something else that she never did). Maybe her was mad that he'd made Cristina upset or maybe he had just had a bad night? She stabbed angrily at a piece of spinach. This was way too frustrating. She needed to go find Meredith.

* * *

Cristina spotted Meredith in the plastics wing of the hospital checking on a patient. She waited outside until Meredith was finished and then ambushed her.

"Ok, this so does not mean that I've gotten over the whole intern thing and that I've forgiven you and that I'm not still very pissed about you not standing up for me. It's just," Cristina avoided eye contact, asking for help was never her strong suit. "I need some advice and I need some one to listen,. I guess. I- I need a best friend. And you're my person, and even though we're in a huge fight, you're still my person, and you're kind of the only person that I can talk to about this." Cristina exhaled. This was her was of giving in and it was a lot harder than she thought it would be.

Meredith's eyes were filled with amusement, but mostly concern. "What's wrong?"

* * *

"Do you want a relationship with Dr. Hunt?" Meredith asked bluntly after Cristina had finished explaining her predicament. They were sitting with their backs against the wall in the tunnels where they had spent most of their intern years.

"What?"

"Well, everything really depends on whether you actually want a relationship with him or whether you're just mad that he doesn't want one. So…?"

"I want a relationship…I think. I don't know!" Cristina squeezed her eyes shut in frustration. "Yes. I do. I really do but that doesn't matter! It doesn't matter that I want a relationship because he doesn't, or maybe he does but it still can't happen."

"Because you work together."

"Because we work together." Cristina groaned. This wasn't helping at all, if anything, this conversation was just making her more depressed.

"So, the way I see it, you have two options. Option one, you act professional like he wants and slowly die inside."

"I'm sure that's a popular choice."

Meredith ignored Cristina's sarcastic comment. "Or option two, you roll the dice. You tell him that you want a relationship no matter what the cost and you see where the chips fall."

"What's with all these gambling analogies?" Cristina didn't like the sound of either of her alternatives. Where was the have and live happily ever after choice? She pouted as Meredith got to her feet.

"I've got to see if Sloan needs anything. Good luck with your hot army doctor." Meredith began to walk away.

"Hey! We're not done here!" Cristina shouted sulkily at her back.

"You're welcome for the advice." Meredith shot Cristina a playful smile before disappearing out of sight.

Cristina sighed. She had nothing to distract her from the decision she had to make, but there was no real debate. Cristina had never been one to let life pass her by, to give up the things she wanted, or to play it safe and this was not the time to start. She rose to her feet, decisive and determined. She needed to do it. She needed to roll the dice and see what came out of it. The only thing that worried her was just how much there was to lose.


	6. Trauma

Owen awoke suddenly from a very good – no bad, very bad, _not good _– dream to the sound of his pager going off. He grunted as he sat up in bad and checked the message. 911 from Karev. "Apparently solo surgeries are not you thing just yet," he mumbled to himself as he rose, left the on-call room and began jogging down to the pit.

When he reached his trauma room, Owen found Karev trying to manage four unconscious, badly wounded patients at once. When he saw Hunt approaching, Alex explained the story. "Woman's artery burst while driving. She lost control of her vehicle and hit another car." He motioned to an old woman, 75, Owen would guess, and then shifted the attention over to the three other patients. "Two kids were in the car that was hit with their Dad. All injuries are pretty serious, but they're not all fatal."

"Alright," Owen looked at Karev expectantly while donning a pair of surgical gloves and a mask. "Who do we treat first?"

"Uh, well one of the kids broke her left leg and cracked a few ribs, but other than that-"

"She'll live." Dr. Hunt finished his sentence. "We'll page Dr. Tores later."

"And the boy hit his head pretty hard, he should get a CT."

"You heard Karev," Owen instructed two of the nurses present, "get him up for a CT scan." The nurses hurriedly obeyed and Alex continued.

"The Dad's fatal." Alex pointed to a middle-aged man, already encircled by blood-covered nurses. "He's lost almost half blood from a wound in the lower abdomen and one in the leg. I think the stick shift might have hit his jugular."

"Ok." Hunt addressed the nurses. "Keep trying to stop the bleeding, apply as much pressure as you can, we can't do anything for that man until the blood stops." He looked at Karev. "What about the woman?"

"Her heart palpitations are very weak and if her atery burst then there's going to be a ton of internal bleeding."

"Alright, she's going to need immediate surgery. Check her charts Karev; are there any allergies we should know about before putting her under?"

"No, no allergies, but," Alex's face bent with confusion. "I think you should take a look at this. "Alex looked at Dr. Hunt but he was busy putting an IV in their patient. "This woman," he continued, "she was in the clinic this morning complaining of a pain in her chest. It was diagnosed as heart burn and the patient was sent home."

"A lazy job." Owen scoffed. "Who diagnosed it?"

"Dr. Yang."

Owen froze and the mention of her name and it was a solid five seconds before he could regain his composure. When he spoke, his voice was quieter than he meant it to be and had a husky tone to it. "We should get Yang down here than shouldn't we."

* * *

Cristina was already half way down to the trauma room to confront Owen when she got the page. _It's a sign_, she thought, not that she believed in signs, but if they did exist this was a pretty huge one wasn't it? Paged to trauma? Maybe Owen had decided to forget the whole being professional thing. Maybe he wanted a relationship just as much as she did. Cristina smiled with a rekindled hope and her step quickened until she reached the trauma room.

"Cristina!" Alex shouted from across the room. He left a heavily bleeding man and jogged to her side. "Man, are you in some deep shit. Hunt's on the warpath and you're-"

"Yang!" Dr. Hunt's harsh voice came from behind and Cristina flipped around to face him. Something told her that the page wasn't about their personal life.

"Uh – yes, Dr. Hunt?" Cristina stammered as she brainstormed all the possible reason why he would be mad at her.

"You saw a patient today, a Mrs. Else MacDougall?"

"Yes. She had a bad case of heartburn, it was textbook." Cristina was becoming less and less comfortable the longer Hunt's relentless eyes bore into hers.

"_Textbook?_ That woman is lying open in the OR with Dr. Wyatt's hands inside of her, trying to fix her heart; does that sound like a textbook case of heartburn to you?"

"What? What happened to her?" Cristina was shocked at the tragedy but could not figure out why she was being interrogated.

"A major artery in her heart burst while she as driving. She crashed into another car holding in it, Grey Buccino, 36, his daughter, Ruby, 11, and his son, Adam, 9. They are all in serious condition. So now four lives are at stake because of your careless diagnoses."

"Wait a second, what does this have to do with my diagnoses?"

Owen pulled up Elsa's chart. "Maybe if you would have been more involved in this case, you would have seen that there was a history of heart attacks in the MacDougall family and that at her past two check-ups, Elsa's cholesterol has been above average for a woman her age and would be considered unhealthy by any trained physician.

"Maybe," Owen's voice was growing in volume until he was practically shouting. "If you had taken the time to do a thorough job instead of brushing this patient aside, she would not be in surgery, as we speak, with a 30% chance of survival. Maybe, Dr. Yang, you could have saved a life today instead of putting four at risk.

Cristina stood speechless for a moment before righteous indignation boiled up her throat and began to form words. "You can't blame this one me." Owen's look of mocking disbelief only pressed her forward. "I read her charts, I knew the history, I checked her blood pressure and it was normal, _healthy. _There was no sign that her heart was in distress. When I saw my patient she was suffering from heartburn and I correctly diagnosed it as such. There was no way I could have known this would happen."

"A coronary calcium scan would have shown the deteriorating artery-" Owen was full out yelling now, attracting awkward glances from every one in the trauma room.

"_You don't know that_ and besides, what reason did I have to conduct a CT scan?" Cristina cut Hunt off, her voice matching his in volume. "Should I give a CT to every patient with chest pain? Should I perform an MRI for any one complaining of a head ache?"

"A doctor's instincts would have told him that-"

"_Instincts?_ Instincts aren't exactly _professional _are they Dr. Hunt?" Cristina's voice had lowered so only Owen would be able to hear her deliver the final blow before turning and storming out of his trauma room.


	7. Confrontation

Cristina was halfway to the elevator before Own caught up to her, grabbed her roughly by the arm, and steered her into the nearest on-call room. It wasn't until he had slammed the door and flipped on the light switch that he broke the severe hold he had on her. As soon as she was free, Cristina flipped around.

"What the f-"

"You have no right to speak to me that way in _my _trauma room." Owen gestured at Cristina angrily; his index finger was only inches away from her face. "You have no right to question my logic or my methods. I am your _boss _Cristina. You can't act like a spoiled child every time you don't get what you want from me."

Cristina was rightfully offended "I did what I did today because I didn't do anything wrong, not because I'm some brat who wants to get back at her parents! There was no way in hell of me knowing what was going to happen to my patient! I know that and I don't feel guilty. Now if you've got some messed up God complex that won't allow you to accept that fact that we can't fix everything then-"

"That woman could die!" Owen shouted, outraged.

"Patients die." Cristina said harshly, but the note of uncertainty was not missed.

Owen adopted a gentler tone. "Cristina,"

Cristina looked up at him and decided that this was probably the best moment she'd have to take her shot. "I can be professional. I know that you think that this" she motioned in between the two of them, "can't work out, but we can make it work. _I _will make it work." She swore she could see the carefully crafted mask the blocked Owen's eyes falter for one moment, but before she could blink his boundaries were set again.

"Today in my trauma room we lost control. We lost sight of our responsibility as doctors because of our relationship. I have an image to uphold as an attending. I have to earn respect from my co-workers and today I lost my cool in front of surgical staff. Cristina, this just can not happen." Owen's voice was weary and he rubbed his forehead as if physically trying to sort out his thoughts.

She sighed. "Ok. I've laid down my case. I am a professional and I can handle anything you've got to throw at me. And I want to have a relationship with you and have sex with you and be your girlfriend and if you don't want that it's fine, I'll live. Just grow some balls and _tell me_ instead of hiding behind this bullshit about me not being professional!" Cristina turned to leave, to storm out again in a fuss – which was rapidly becoming a habit – but Owen's voice stopped her. It was rougher than normal, agonized.

"This isn't about you Cristina." She turned and he looked her straight in the eyes, so intensely that she couldn't dream of looking away. "Don't you get it? Can't you understand this? _I'm _the one who can't be professional. I lose my temper at the drop of a hat, I manage to get emotionally involved only with patients who have a death sentence, when something doesn't go my way or I make a mistake I cannot, for the life of me, let it go – and that's on a good day." Owen let out a shaky breath. "Cristina, when you walk into the room, I can't think I- I can't focus. When you stand close to me, my hands start to shake. I can't function properly with you around. I'm sure that you can handle all of this with out a second thought but I…I" Owen squeezed his eyes shut, trying to articulate his thoughts and Cristina took the opportunity to close the space in between them, wrap her arms around his neck and give him a slow, comforting kiss. She tried to convey with a kiss everything that could not be said with language. It was sweet at first, but gradually grew deeper – more intense. Cristina's hands snaked their way into Owen's orange hair as he rested his hands carefully on her hips.

The kiss ended suddenly when Owen pulled away, removed Cristina's arms from his hair and placed them at her sides. His eyes were glassy as he moved his face beside hers to whisper apologetically in her ear.

"I can't."

She only caught a brief glimpse of Owen's tortured face before he turned quickly and left the on-call room, shutting the door quietly behind him. After he had gone, Cristina let out a humourless laugh. The empty silence he left behind was nothing compared to the dull hollow Cristina felt in her chest.


	8. Cristina

The next week was a blur for Cristina. She worked, slept, ate, and not much else. She studied most of the day to distract herself from Owen and try to suppress the pain she felt. She wasn't interested, however, in participating in any surgeries. She just didn't feel up to it. She had also lost her competitive edge. She not only passed up a triple bypass surgery, that Izzie blabbed to her about non-stop after performing it herself, but she was late for work two days in a row, earning her a genuinely concerned talk from Dr. Bailey, which was hard to come by. Cristina, of course, had make up an excuse about feeling under the weather, to which Bailey responded by sending her home for the day.

Cristina sat alone in her apartment staring blankly at her television, which was shut off; cable wasn't working. She had no distractions here; nothing to divert her attention from what had happened five days ago.

_"I can't."_

What the hell was that? You join the army, work in the worst of conditions for the most ridiculous hours, you staple up your own goddamn leg for Christ's sake and you can't have a relationship at work? _What the hell was that?! _ _What kind of shitty explanation was that? _No one said no to Cristina Yang. Except that he had. He did.

Cristina chastised herself. Why was she so affected by this? She had known the guy for what? Six weeks? In the past, she had always been in control of her relationships, always calling the shots, always one step ahead. Each move was carefully planned, expected, and, well, kind of boring. Like playing chess against a little kid. Owen Hunt was a whole new ball game. It was like being dragged down by a wave; pulled into a current too strong to ever hope to break free. Only, just when she had begun to enjoy how the water felt, it had been taken away; drained. She was drowning on dry land.

Cristina sighed. She wished that she could just go back to the way things were before stupid Hunt came to Seattle Grace. Back to when it was work and only work. Back to when she didn't come to work to see a guy instead of cut open bodies. And now back to when she didn't scan every hall way and take fake-sick days to make sure she didn't run into him.

Wait a second. _What was she doing? _ _Why was she the one hiding from him? He had been the one to end it (and start it for that matter), he should have to deal with the consequences. He should be the one terrified of running into her, having that awkward exchange. _

Cristina stood with new determination. _This was her hospital and she wasn't about to give up five years of hard work because of a few kisses. _She grabbed her bag, threw on her coat and a scarf for good measure and headed for the door. _If Owen Hunt wanted to be professional, then Cristina would be the best damn professional there ever was. But then again, she kind of already was._

She smiled to herself as she slammed her front door and headed into the brisk winter wind.


	9. Owen

The next week was hell for Owen Hunt. He had thought that breaking things off with Cristina would free his thoughts of her, but ever since that day he had never once had a thought that wasn't centered on Cristina Yang. _Had he hurt her? Did he do the right thing? Was she thinking about him? _

_Stop it. _Owen rebuked himself thousands of times a day, each time vowing to never think of her again until a few seconds later when thoughts of her curly black hair or her soft hands on the nape of his neck would creep their way into his head again. _What was this? He was an army man; a professional on discipline. He should know better, _be _better, than this. _

Five days after the fact, Owen was patrolling the pit. It was another slow, quiet day at the hospital. _Perfect. _He thought sarcastically. _The one good distraction and even _it_ is failing me. _

He had seen Cristina twice after he had left her in the on-call room that day. Both times he had managed to dodge out of view before she turned to see him, but he had gotten a good look at her. She seemed distant; almost robotic. Owen had felt a pang of guilt, knowing that he had been the one who made her so withdrawn. If only he had never come to Seattle Grace. If he had never met Cristina, he would never have had the chance to make her so miserable. He wouldn't be miserable either. He wouldn't have had to feel this unendurable pain.

But then again, Owen didn't regret coming to this hospital. He couldn't honestly say that he would have rather skipped the entire affair. The few moments of happiness he had shared with Cristina were worth the pain he was feeling now. He wouldn't have traded anything for the memories he had now. Watching her disbelieving face as he stapled his leg together, seeing her sincere shock after he named her beautiful, showing her the vent; being her support and protection for once, it was invaluable to him.

Owen shook himself from his thoughts. They weren't together. He shouldn't be thinking about her at all. The whole reason he broke it off with Dr. Yang was so that he could be a professional and a professional is what he would be. He surveyed his trauma room. A broken arm was being wheeled in but the nurse took care of it before Owen even reached the patient. Owen groaned. He was never going to get used to all this help. It was a complete contrast to his work in the army. Back then every other doctor was too busy finding their own mangled bodies to steal yours. Owen was used to depending on himself for everything and now he was getting more help than he could manage. It was frustrating in a way. Whenever Owen wanted to get up to his elbows in blood, or brace a broken leg, he would end up talking a nervous intern through it instead, and right now Owen really needed to hold a scalpel.

"Dr. Hunt!" A young nurse called to him from the doors of the hospital. "We've got a situation here!"

_Looks like my wish is going to come true, _Owen thought as he jogged towards the door and adorned his usual dark blue scrubs. He heard the ambulances coming before he saw them.

"What happened?" He asked the nurse as four ambulances pulled in and began to bring patient after patient into the hospital. Owen counted seven.

"There was a shooting at a high school." The nurse said grimly. "This is just the first set of patients sent from the school."

"Alright, let's get to work." The tragedy of the incident had to be put aside. Owen swiftly grabbed the nearest patient and began wheeling the 17-year-old girl into the trauma room. It was going to be a long day.


	10. Chaos

_So hopefully I'll be able to update my chapters a lot quicker than I have been lately. I wasn't sure if I should continue this story because the show is taking a different (and kinda wierd) take on the whole Owen/Cristina dealio but I have a story line that I'm really excited about so I'm gonna power through!! Thank you to every one for the amazing reviews, they make me super duper happy and encourage me to write more!! Keep reading and reviewing and enjoy yourselves!!_

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Cristina strode out from the elevator onto the surgical floor, head held high. She wouldn't let _Dr. Hunt_ affect her work anymore. She would be confident, competitive, rational; professional. She glanced around the floor, trying to find a familiar face, but she found the area eerily quiet. Only a few scrub nurses and interns walked through the halls. Cristina stopped two of the nurses closest to her and asked what the situation was.

"Every one's down at trauma trying to steal the best patients." One of the nurses said with distain. She tried to continue, but the other interrupted her, pointing rudely at Cristina.

"What the hell is it with you surgeons? Do you people not have souls?" The nurse had a bigger nose and bad highlights. Cristina frowned at her questioningly. "Don't give me that look!"

"I have no idea-" Cristina was getting impatient. She had never gotten along with nurses; they were whiny, bitchy, and wasted a lot of her time

"There's a _school shooting_ and all you people think about is who's going to get to help Dr. Hunt take a bullet out of a kid's left cerebella hemisphere. It's _sick._"

"There was a shooting?" The shock of the disaster made Cristina go numb. She demanded more information. "How many patients are there? Are they just bullet wounds or-"

The first nurse took control once again. "So far 18 people have been admitted and there are still ambulances arriving constantly."

"18!" That was a lot of patients for a high school shooting. "Isn't Mercy West taking any patients? We can't handle all of these patients at once! We don't have the man power."

"The patients needed immediate care and we're closer to the high school."

"They can't all need immediate care, that's crazy. A kid with a gun can't cause that much destruction."

"It wasn't just one kid." The first nurse, more timid than the other, looked uncomfortable as she relayed the events of the shooting. "There were six gunmen, each with two or three rifles on hand. They also had pipe bombs and home-made grenades." Both nurses' pagers beeped. "Another ambulance." She looked towards Cristina. "We've got to go."

Cristina followed after the nurses to the pit. "Wait, wait, wait." The nurses glanced over their shoulders at her, clearly uncomfortable that this crazy surgeon was following them. "_Pipe bombs?! Grenades?!" _

"Yes." Big-nose nurse said. "Pipe bombs and grenades. They were very unstable and, well, messy and now there are kids down there with half their bodies blown off, so if you wouldn't mind leaving us alone, we have work to do."

"Well yeah, I can see that." Nurses were stupid too. "I'm coming to help."

The second nurse scoffed. "Whatever."

By this time they had reached the pit and Cristina froze with shock and the nurses took their opportunity to slink away from her. "Oh my god…" Her voice trailed off. There were way more than 18 patients down here and they were all in serious condition. Blood was every where. There were kids barely past puberty screaming in pain as doctors tried to remove bullets and bits of debris from their abdomens and legs and arms and faces. Attendings were rushing from patient to patient trying in vain to help every one at once. Residents were stitching, cutting, and bandaging two or three patients at once and even interns were treating patients on their own without any supervision. Every one had their hands full and to make matters worse every single student was in complete shock and from the shooting. They were hysterical. Kids were screaming out for their mothers and trying to locate their friends; some were just sobbing and not even trying to form coherent sentences.

It was utter chaos, unlike anything Cristina had ever seen before. Sure there had been serious accidents and their surgical team had had to handle more patients than this at once, but this time it was different. Before, there had been some form of order, some one giving out directions, some one who was in charge. Now every one was on their own, even if you needed help, there was no one to give it. Every one was so busy that Cristina was free to stand frozen, surveying the disarray, for five minutes before she was noticed by Dr. Bailey.

"Yang!" Bailey bellowed from the doors of the hospital. "Either get in some scrubs or leave this trauma room! You're no help standing there dumb." Cristina was about to answer, explain what she was doing back at work when she had said she was sick, but Bailey turned before she could, too caught up in the incoming patients to care for a response.

Cristina went to get a surgical gown and threw it over her clothes. _Shit._ She had forgotten to change into scrubs. She was wearing a sweater and a pain of jeans. Oh well. She shrugged before finding her way through the sea of surgical beds, finding some patients who needed her help.


	11. Iraq

It was Iraq. It was exactly like Iraq. Screaming, crying, bodies so mangled they were unrecognizable, so many hurt people; too many to possibly help. Owen had worked so hard to get away from that place, to forget it. And now here it was; the horror had found him yet again.

He had loved his work in the war, down on the front, in the action. He was really, truly helping people who needed and deserved it. But all the while loving his time in Iraq, Owen despised it beyond belief. He hated the grotesque bodies that he had to pass by because others were worse off; he hated the evils he saw normal, _good_ men commit. He saw what human beings are really made of and he didn't like it. At the core of every person, Owen discovered, was the selfish desire to survive at all costs. He had seen badly wounded men crawl over each other, _push each other down_, to try and get help. Men had begged him for help over others, soldiers had offered him cigarettes, money, and treasured possessions, anything to be saved before some one else. The persona of the altruistic, brave soldiers that defended their country without a thought of themselves was lost in the terror that came with the threat of death. Owen hated that reality, the harshness of the war, and had been relieved when he was able to leave it. He had ignorantly thought that leaving the war meant leaving the things he had seen and experienced in it, leaving behind the memories, but they, much to his dismay, had followed him all the way to Seattle Grace.

He had dreams of faces he had lost, waking completely drenched and out of breath. He still jumped at car backfires, each one invoking terror in his soul. No matter what he did, he could not escape it. And now it was right in his face, mocking him, haunting him. He was re-living Iraq.

37 patients had been admitted to the hospital, each more broken then the next. Owen`s heart was wrenched in two with each new arrival. Each young girl and boy who had been the object of merciless killing would disturb Owen`s mind forever, just as the war did.

In the midst of the chaos, Owen wished to be back in Iraq. He longed to be treating grown adults who were willingly subjected to the pain of war, not kids who were untimely forced into their own personal versions of hell. Owen had done his best to cope with the mayhem he was faced with, but he had had to catch his breath in an on-call room multiple times, try to gather his thoughts and focus. He had treated five patients in the hour and a half since they had arrived. Two kids with bullet wounds were taken to prep for surgery. Dr. Shepherd had taken over one patient who had severe trauma to his head after being trampled by a crowd rushing from the school. One boy refused to be treated until his mother arrived which was allowed since his injuries weren't the most serious. The latest girl, who was practically blown apart by one of the homemade pipe bombs, died in Owen`s arms after he had tried, in vain, to stitch her back together.

It was 1:30 in the afternoon and Owen was already exhausted. Besides the emotional battles that were waging in his mind, Owen had over scheduled himself the past week so that he would be distracted from thought of Dr. Yang, an act he was regretting in times of late. He would be here overnight; probably do a forty-eight hour shift if the back up in the ER continued. Owen was not his best when he was tired and these kids deserved his best. He went down to the tunnels and found a vending machine that held energy drinks. Owen bought a Red bull and downed the foul tasting, caffeine filled beverage in three gulps. He then jogged back up to his trauma room, feeling the effects of the drink almost immediately.

He brushed past all the other doctors, looking for a patient waiting to be treated.

"Dr. Hunt!" George O`Malley called to him from across the room, gesturing for help. Owen ignored him and kept searching for a patient. These doctors needed to learn how to work by themselves, without any one guiding them or watching to make sure no mistakes were made. Confidence was the one quality that separated the mediocre surgeons from the great.

Owen found his patient in a young boy who was struggling to escape the hands of three nurses holding him to his hospital bed.

"Sir! Sir!" One of the nurses who practically had the boy in a headlock was trying to talk some sense into him. "We need to treat you! You have a very bad bullet wound and if you keep fighting, it'll only make it worse!"

Owen approached the bed with caution, trying to avoid being hit by the boy's flailing arms. He tried a different tactic than the one that was failing the nurses. "Hey kid, what's your name?" Back in Iraq, Owen always asked a soldiers name, their hometown, and things about their family. It helped to keep them grounded and calm as Owen operated without aesthetic.

"Adam. Adam Potter." The boy was drenched in sweat, either from an injury or his on-going fight with the nurses.

"Ok. Now Adam, can you tell me what's wrong? You have a bullet wound I hear?" Owen placed a hand on the boy's now stationary arm, trying to comfort him, but Adam jerked it away.

"It doesn't matter ok? My girlfriend, her name's Lyla and she was in one of the explosions and I couldn't find her at the school and then they took me in the fucking ambulance even though I told them _not to_." He looked at the three nurses who were still holding him down accusingly as he spoke the last words. "And now I can't find her and I know that she's got to be in a lot worse trouble than I am, so if you could, like, go and find her or something and help her because she needs it more than I do."

"Look Adam, I'm sure that another doctor is taking very good care of your friend. I'm also sure that she would want _you _to get some help, so can I take a look at your bullet wound?"

The boy looked sceptically at Owen. He mustn't have been more than 16, Owen observed, baby-face. His mother must be worried out of her mind. "Alright…. But can you check on my girl-friend please? Lyla-Jane Murphy. That's her name. I need to know she's alright."

Owen nodded at one of the nurses who reluctantly withdrew her hold on Adam and stalked away to find Lyla-Jane. "Ok. Now she is going to find your friend and as soon as she had, she'll come back and fill you in. In the meantime I'm going to take a look at this wound you've got." The other two nurses also removed their hold on the boy as Owen snapped on a pair of surgical gloves and leaned in towards Adam's abdomen. It was bleeding heavily, probably stress related. Other than the erratic bleeding, the wound was relatively clean. "Ok, you're wound isn't too serious. My main concern with it is that the bullet is still inside." Owen prodded the boy's stomach gently. "Does this hurt?"

"Yeah, kind of."

Owen kept feeling around his abdomen until a hard, blunt object verified his suspicions.

"Ow!" The boy hunched away from Owen's hand and then, realizing what he had done chuckled awkwardly to himself. "That one hurt…"

Owen gestured to one of the nurses still observing. "Adam, you need to be taken for surgery, alright? The bullet is still inside your body and we can't do anything until we've removed it. Under normal circumstances a surgery wouldn't be necessary, but the bullet is in too deep and I think it may have punctured your intestines. That's why it hurts so much; the acid is slowly escaping from your bowls and practically eroding your insides."

Adam looked un-easily at Owen. "_Eroding my insides?"_

"It's not as bad as it sounds, but even so, Nurse Hamlin is going to take your up to the ER immediately." As the nurse wheeled Adam away, Owen took her by the arm and spoke rapidly into her ear. "Get him into surgery fast. It's only a matter of time until his intestines are covered in stomach acid and then he'll need a whole new set of organs, and the chances of that…." The nurse nodded professionally and steered Adam towards the elevator.

Owen watched them leave. Once they were out of view he, again, submerged himself in the chaos of hospital beds and surgeons, trying not to look at all the disturbed, tortured faces that would surely haunt his dreams.


	12. The OR

Cristina was standing on the surgical floor, bored to tears. She had a clipboard handy and was making regular visits to the surgical board, swapping or replacing surgeries with the all powerful magic marker. The chief was consequently still mad at her since he had given her the one non-surgical job possible: directing the OR. Standing there patiently as every single arrogant surgeon in the entire hospital tried to convince her that their patient took precedence, that their patient was special. None of these kids were special. Not in the doors of a hospital. They were identified and chosen by their injuries, not their accomplishments, not their history or their possible future. Kids would be paralyzed because they had to wait an hour for surgery but it was better than being dead. Cristina sighed deeply. She had had to turn down patients before but not to this magnitude and definitely not one right after the other.

_These poor kids don't deserve this._ Cristina tried to repress the compassion she felt towards these patients. This was not the time to get sentimental; in fact, this was probably the worst time she could have picked to develop a soul, but she had. She couldn't stand to see this suffering, especially in kids barely out of the playground. The minute she saw each one she wanted to operate right then and there, she wanted to fix them, make them better.

But she couldn't. She would stand calmly and inform the doctor or nurse of the back-up in the OR and watch as the patient was wheeled away to wait. She would then write the name down on her clipboard, along with a description of the wound, at the bottom of the list. Of course, if the patient was in a more critical condition than another, their name would be bumped up to the top or the middle or wherever their injury placed them, but even so, it would be at least an hour before they would see the inside of an OR.

It was a boring, depressing, frustrating job and Cristina swore at the chief under her breath as yet another nurse approached.

"Bullet wound to the abdomen. It's very critical; he needs to get in the OR as quickly as possible. The patient's waiting in the pit." The nurse spoke briskly and impatiently trying to stare Cristina down.

She didn't waver. "It's not as critical as other patients we have. It's going to be two or three hours before this kid gets seen." Cristina hid the bad news with a tight smile and waited for the nurse leave. She didn't.

"I don't think you understand. I have instructions to bring this patient into surgery right away. If he doesn't get into the OR soon-"

"Look, I understand, ok? Every one has instructions to get their patients into surgery. Every one thinks their patient is the most injured and most important and needs to be seen right away. No one recognizes that there are _others _who have been waiting until a room is open and that _those_ people also have bullet wounds or concussions or fractured bones and that they might just be worse. It's my job to direct the OR, so no matter what instructions you have it is still going to be two-three hours before this kid gets into surgery."

"If I wait two-three hours I'm going to have to start looking for new organs for this kid. I _have _to get him into surgery now if he wants to live to graduate and I'm going to get in shit if I don't since my exact orders were to get him in the OR _immediately."_

"I really don't care who told you what, I have 14 patients waiting to get into surgery and yours isn't critical enough to be moved up on my list."

"You know what?" The nurse was at her wits ends. "I'm going to get Dr. Hunt up here and then maybe you'll actually listen to what I'm saying instead just pushing me and my patient aside." With that, the nurse stormed angrily away to find Major Owen Hunt. Cristina, stock-still, watched her leave as terror rose in the pit of her stomach.

"Shit."

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_Yeah, so they're gonna have another crazy fight. Brace yourselves. ;) _

_And I fixed the whole ER/OR thing. sorry about that one!!_


	13. Fighting

_Shalom!! Sorry about the wait on this chapter. So much for updating quickly hun?? Oh wells. I hope you like this crazy fight. This chapter is a little sketchy in my mind, but trying to edit it was making me a little crazy, so I needed to just get past it. Anywho, please, please, please read and review. Love to every one!!_

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Dr. Hunt was in front of her in minutes. Shock flew across his face as he realized just who this hot-tempered surgeon Nurse Hamlin had described was. He tried to regain his composure but he was still slightly dazed as he addressed her. He spoke quickly and quietly, not meeting Cristina's eyes for fear that she would see his hesitation.

"My patient needs surgery."

She matched his blunt tone. "A lot of patients need surgery. Yours isn't as critical. It can wait." Her voice scared the shit out of him. It was a voice he'd never heard her use, ice cold, mean, and very final.

"Are there _any_ openings? The surgery would take two hours tops and we don't need a main OR."

Owen's question was met with a scornful glare. "Are there any openings?" Cristina scoffed. "If there were openings, the kid with a bullet in his _heart _would probably be in there, or the girl who's brain is bleeding out."

"Ok, I get it, there are a lot of serious patients, but Adam is just as important as any of those kids and he needs a surgery just as bad."

"No. No, he doesn't need a surgery _just as bad._ Your patient will survive until an OR opens. He'll be fine."

Despite her uninviting tone, Owen painfully continued. "If he doesn't get into surgery soon, his intestinal fluid will erode his organs. He will literally cook from the inside out."

"Cook from the inside out, huh? Sounds like a good turkey." Cristina's words dripped with sarcasm.

Owen was mortified. "You're comparing my patient to _cooking?_" His eyes narrowed and he became tense with agitation. "_How can you be so insensitive?_ There's a 16 year old boy who's going to die and you're not doing anything about it!"

Cristina's voice was bitingly calm as she responded, her face impassive. "There is nothing I can do to help your patient. It will be two or three hours before an OR is available."

Owen was taken aback. This was not Cristina. This was not the passionate, shrewd resident he had known. She was cold, indifferent, and unresponsive and he couldn't understand why.

"We have all the equipment necessary to save this kid's life at our disposal and nothing is being done! We should set up other operating rooms if we're that backed up. We should be sterilizing empty rooms." He felt like grabbing her by the shoulders and trying to shake sense into her. "We can't just stand here and _wait _for these kids to die!"

"We are not 'waiting for kids to die' _Dr. Hunt_. We are seeing as many patients as we can as quickly as we can. If you want to recommend another method of treating these kids I suggest you relay this genius idea to the chief. Not to me."

_Dr. Hunt. _It was the way she said her name that made Owen cringe, her cool response to his hectic mood. It was very… _professional._ His shoulder's tensed as he realized why this calm facade was being employed. She was mocking him, throwing his sincere attempt to deal with their relationship right back in his face. He squeezed his eyes shut and inhaled deeply, trying to manage his rapidly intensifying feelings. He exhaled sharply and looked at Cristina square in the eye.

"This is exactly what I wanted to avoid." She escaped his gaze by rolling her eyes.

"I don't know what you're talking about, I-"

"Being professional includes treating me like a human being." He spoke quietly, so as not to attract attention, but the intensity of his voice was not missed by the surrounding staff. "I know that whatever was between us ended badly but that doesn't excuse your behaviour! Why can't we just forget that all of this-"

"We can't just forget all of this! You don't just magically forget any unfortunate things that happened in your life. This is how I'm coping with this and you don't get to have a problem with it. You were the one who started this. You came into my life, into _my_ _hospital_ and turned everything inside out. You can't blame me for treating you like this, you brought it on yourself." Cristina raised her voice to try and hide the tears pooling in her eyes. "You can't just come in here and be all interested and lead me on like you did and then all of a sudden…" Her voice cracked and she tried to play it off as a cough. "all of a sudden...just…"

Owen reached out to comfort her but she angled away from his touch. Her tears were now streaming silently down her face and the nearby surgeons were staring. Her shining tears hurt his heart.

"Cristina, I-"

"No." She said forcefully, her voice was full of unrelenting anguish. "You do not call me Cristina. You do not have the _right _to say my fucking name." She looked at him straight in the eye regaining what pride she had left. "It's Dr. Yang."

And with that she stalked away from him and the entire staff, wiping away her tears.


	14. Seriously?

Cristina paced in the tunnels. She was a freaking mess, crying in front of the entire staff. She would never live this down. Ever. Her reputation was forever tarnished with this unprincipled show of estrogens.

She kicked a wall and swore under her breath when pain rushed up her spine. She was absolutely helpless. There was nothing she could do about any of this. She couldn't force Owen to go out with, she couldn't help any patients, she couldn't even help one since the chief wouldn't even give her a case. It was all out of her control and she hated it.

Cristina slammed herself down against a wall, trying to make sense of her speeding thoughts. She would have to go back to the OR soon. Without her directing it, everything would turn to chaos. She inhaled deeply, trying to regulate her erratic breathing. She had convinced herself that she didn't need him. She _didn't _need him. She just wanted him… really, _really _bad. She wanted his ice blue eyes, his intensity, his cute ginger hair. She wanted him, but he didn't want her. Or he did want her but he couldn't handle a work relationship. Cristina didn't exactly have a crystal clear understanding of why he had broken it off. She didn't care about the details. She only knew that his reasons meant that they would never happen.

She didn't know why she was stressed like this. Every thing was out of her hands. If she was a normal person, she would accept her fate and just deal with it. After all, what was she suppose to do? Move hospitals? Turn back freaking time and never staple the freaking masochist's leg back together? She had already tried to talk to Owen and it hadn't worked out so she _should_ forget it, but she couldn't. She wasn't a normal person. She slammed her head against the concrete wall and squeezed her eyes shut. She focused on the spots of light she saw on her eyelids. She watched them circle around her vision, dissolve, and then form again.

"Cristina?" She opened her eyes to see Meredith gazing at her inquisitively. "Are you ok?"

"How did you find me down here?" The sole reason why Cristina had regressed back to the tunnels was so that she could be alone.

"I was checking on the OR wait for Dr. Bailey and Dr. Hunt told me that I should find you."

"Dr. Hunt did?" Meredith nodded. "Great. Did he tell you that I broke down into tears in front of my superiors and that I'm never going to be requested as a resident and that my surgical career is down the drain?" Cristina hung her head between her legs as if trying to hold down nausea.

"…No. He just said that I should find you, he didn't really say why, but he seemed really concerned."

Cristina snapped. "He seemed concerned?" She scoffed in frustration. "He can't be concerned! He's not allowed to be all concerned. I am no longer a concern for him."

"Um…" Meredith looked questioningly at Cristina. "Are you ok?" She asked for a second time, seating herself beside her friend.

"He said that we can't be a couple because he can't be professional when I'm here…or something. He said his hands shake when I'm near him."

"Well, that's nice." Cristina made a face. "It's a compliment."

"Except that the compliment arrived just prior to him breaking it off."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"That does suck."

"Yeah."

"So what do you do now?" Meredith cocked her head to the side. Cristina always had a battle plan.

"I have no fucking idea what I do now. I'm trying to be professional, but it's not working. I've cried more times in the three months since he's been here than my entire internship."

"Well, when Derek dumped me, I-"

"You what? Had meaningless sex with guy after guy until finally realizing how much of a whore you were when you _broke_ a boy's _penis?_" Meredith looked down. "Sorry. I'm pissed and I just need to release my anger somehow. And I can't be mad at Owen. So, that leaves you." She smiled sheepishly at Meredith.

"Why can't you be mad at Owen? When Derek chose Addison I was filled with unrelenting fury. It's not that difficult."

"Yeah, but Derek was married and didn't tell you. You had a _reason _to be pissed. Owen broke it off for all the right reasons and now he's being completely pleasant and polite." Cristina motioned wildly. "There is nothing to be mad at!"

"Hun." Meredith's brow furrowed thoughtfully. "He's a pretty good guy. Dr. Hunt, I mean."

Cristina glared at her, appalled. "_Seriously?_"

"Sorry."


	15. I need you

_So here is the next installment! I hope you like it! Thank you so so much to everybody who's been leaving lovely reviews, they make me so super happy and all your little hints make me laugh. _

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Owen stood alone in the hospital's elevator, absolutely exhausted. His hands held his weary body upright as a long sigh escaped his lips. He had had a long day. After the encounter with Cristina, Owen had gone back to his work, shaken. His concentration was lost as he imagined where she was, what was going through her mind. He hoped that Meredith had gone to find her, it was the least he could do, providing her with some one to talk to; God knows she couldn't talk to him. Every conversation they attempted turned angry and unmanageable. She was bitter. Owen knew that. He understood.

"_This is how I'm coping with this and you don't get to have a problem with it."_

She was right, of course. He wasn't a part of her life any more. He didn't get to criticize her, he didn't get to help her, offer guidance. He didn't get to care about who she was anymore. He had lost those privileges when he told her that their relationship was a mistake. She was right. Owen knew that, but he couldn't accept it. He could never lead a whole life with out Cristina Yang.

His brow furrowed at his thoughts. He had been spending all his free time and energy trying to convince himself that he didn't need her, that she wasn't an essential. He had just met her a few months ago for Christ's sake and here he was saying he couldn't live without her. He took his hands off the elevator's rails and ran them over his face and through his rough hair. It was true, though. Somewhere in his subconscious he had always known that and now the fact had emerged. At the perfect fucking time, too.

Owen willed himself not to cry, but the pools were forming in his eyes despite his resolve. What the fuck was wrong with him? Was it engrained in his nature to hurt the one's he loved? Was it written in his DNA somewhere that he should turn out to be a total jackass? He needed her. He wiped his face violently, trying to hold himself together. He needed her and all he could do was push her away, turning them both to misery and depression. He needed her gorgeous black hair and her charming if not bitingly evil sarcasm. He laughed to himself but there was no humour in his voice. _He needed her. _A painful sob escaped his throat. Owen pushed the emergency stop button so he could have a moment to himself as he slid down pathetically to the floor. _Pathetic. There was his perfect word. _Owen couldn't find a better adjective to describe himself. Cowardly, pitiful, and masochistic made the list, but pathetic, there was the clear-cut winner. _You want Major Owen Hunt in one word: pathetic. _

The sobs and the tears were coming steadily now as Owen held his head in his hands. He needed her and he had gone and driven her away. He had ruined their relationship even before it had really started. He had broken it beyond repair and now all now all he had was the shattered pieces of what could have been.

Owen listened to the empty silence, trying to think about anything other than Cristina. His breath become more even and he stood, smoothing down the wrinkles that had formed in his deep blue scrubs. There was nothing he could do now. He had made his bed and now all there was to do was lie in it. He pushed the emergency stop and braced himself to face his reality. He needed sleep. And maybe some food.

Owen held back a yawn as the elevator beeped to announce his arrival. Sleep first. He stepped out of the elevator as went in search of a place to sleep.

He walked into a dark on-call room and had his scrubs around his neck before he discovered that the space was occupied. Returning his shirt to where it was, Owen squinted in the darkness to see who was on the bed. _Of course. _

She looked serene, beautiful. He needed her. Owen smiled despite himself. She needed rest and he was happy that she was finally getting some peace, even if it was fleeting. She was lying on her side, facing him. He leaned against the wall and watched her steady breathing. All the stress her face had showed earlier was gone. The creases in her face had been smoothed. She looked calm. Her hair had escaped the neat tie she had styled it in and was a mess of tangles, flowing down her shoulders and back. Owen wanted to reach out and tuck her hair back into place. He wanted to climb into the bed beside her and hold her. He wanted to burry his face in her curls, feel her easy breaths against his chest. He wanted to be the one who offered her peace, who comforted her, who eased her tension and stress. He wanted her to need him the way he needed her.

"I need you." Owen whispered into the darkness. Her face remained still, her breath was still even. She hadn't heard him. He doubted that she would ever hear him again, he doubted that she would ever want to after what he'd done to her, but he said it.

"I need you, Cristina."

He watched her for what felt like an eternity before he was able to pull himself away and go to find a place to sleep.


	16. Coffee

Cristina woke up at 5:15. She had gotten a fairly decent sleep, considering it was on one of the hospital's sheet thin mattresses. She sat up and stretched to try and wake herself up. She spent a moment recounting the events of the day before: the school shooting, the fight with Owen, the despair. She allowed herself only one minute the sulk before getting up. That was her new plan. She would have an allotted time to whine about her shitty situation and then she would stop. She would shut it off and she would go to work. That was her plan. She knew it wasn't fail-safe, but it was the best she had. It was the only way she could think of.

Cristina resumed stretching once she was on her feet, balancing from one foot to the other, stretching her sore calves. She had twisted, trying to stretch out her abdomen and crack her back when she saw it on the night table beside the bed. It was a cup of coffee, still steaming and smelling very inviting. She watched it for a moment, puzzled. Who would bring her coffee? No one knew where she had slept and she doubted any of the doctors she knew would be generous enough to buy a coffee for her and leave it beside her bed. Cristina stretched her arm over her chest as she studied the coffee. It was a medium, the size she always got and it smelled black, the way she liked it.

Cristina finished her stretches and picked it up, sniffing it suspiciously. Definitely black, and mouth-watering. Maybe Meredith had gotten it for her after their strained talk the night before. She was the only one who knew Cristina's order and who would spare the $2.74 to get it for her. George had her on a tab ($24.66) for every coffee he paid for, and no matter how many times Cristina had told her, Izzie still got her cappuccinos. Yes. It must have been Meredith.

Or maybe…

_No. _It wasn't Owen. It couldn't have been. Owen didn't know her order and he didn't know where she was sleeping. Besides, Owen had no business getting her coffee. That was the kind of things boyfriends do. Not non-boyfriends who have no interest in ever being boyfriends. Not _professionals_. Cristina pushed the thought from her mind and took a swig of the coffee. It burned from her lips all the way down her throat. She gasped from the unexpected surge of heat. The coffee was clearly fresher than she had thought. Stupid hot coffee.

"Shit."

Once she had recovered, Cristina headed for the door, spitefully dumping the coffee in the garbage on her way out.


	17. Falling

_Thank you yet again to all you wonderful people who read and review my story!! You cannot imagine how much I appreciate your interest. This is another short chapter, but I promise a nice long juicy one is on its way. Please review!!! And thanks again!_

* * *

Cristina walked into the pit, surveying the situation that she had abruptly left the night before. It was still chaotic, but not out of control. It was organized chaos which Cristina was familiar with. There were still beds strewn everywhere, but the patients filling them weren't bleeding uncontrollably, screaming, or seizing. There were still some kids who were in bad condition but after talking with a nurse Cristina found that most of the patients from the night before had gotten their surgery and were now in recovery. The kids Cristina saw now were mostly suffering from cuts, superficial wounds, and concussions.

She hadn't gotten her assignment yet today and she figured that trauma would probably need the most help. She weaved her way in between the beds making sure every one was being taken care of. Izzie was there, coaching her interns on the difference between a cross stitch and a hemming, but other than that it was mostly nurses bandaging the kids up, trying to calm them down. They really didn't need much help here so Cristina went to go find an attending, see what else she could do.

Cristina took the stairs to the surgical floor instead of the elevator. She took the extra time to give herself a little pep talk. She was doing well today. With the exception of the coffee, she had gone the whole morning without thinking about Dr. Hunt. She had gone into the pit without any glances over her shoulder to see if he was there. She was being professional and it felt…good. Well, it felt ok, kind of dull. But this was just the start of her resolution. It would get better. She would go back to being the kick-ass surgeon that existed before Dr. Hunt. It would take some time, but she would get back to that.

She reached the floor and took off looking for hot surgeries. That was another part of her plan, she would get the best surgeries she could, pre-occupy herself with the one thing better than sex: cutting.

Cristina ran into Bailey first, and she was grateful. If there were any big surgeries going down in the entire state of Washington Bailey would know about them. Cristina started to ask about the OR but was cut off even before she got her mouth open.

"Yang. Where did you go yesterday?" Bailey pursed her lips, clearly unimpressed. Cristina moved her eyes to the floor. No matter how respected or successful Cristina would ever get, she would always cower at the wrath of her first resident. "_You_ were supposed to be at the OR. I come down expecting to see your face directing traffic and who do I see instead?" Bailey looked at Cristina expectantly and when she failed to answer continued lecturing. "I see Dr. Hunt there, _an attending_, doing your job."

Cristina's head snapped up. _What the hell? _"What the hel-"

"I did not teach you to slack off and make an attending, an attending that _could_ have been saving lives, take over a job for you." Dr. Bailey sighed before continuing under her breath. "Then again I didn't teach you to stick your hands on top of bombs and cut LVAD wires either." Cristia was too stunned to respond so Dr. Bailey rolled her eyes and stalked away, leaving Cristina standing there, frozen.

He had taken over her job for her. He had done her pathetic, boring, frustrating job. He had given up a day of sutures and patients and surgeries to take over her job. Cristina sighed heavily. _What a douche bag._ What a stupid, wonderful, caring, perfect douche bag.

Every fibre in Cristina's body fought to hate him. Every fibre told her that it would never happen, told her to stick to the plan. Every single fibre in Cristina's body struggled to just _stop feeling_, but with every passing moment Cristina found herself unwillingly falling for him harder and faster than she could ever imagine.

* * *


	18. Army Man

Owen sat on the lower bunk of an on-call bed, his head in his hands. It was 1:42. He had been working all morning. He had tended to his patients from the shooting and they were all recovering nicely. He had checked and re-checked their CTs and MRIs to ensure their full recovery. He had spoken with their parents, given them the run-down of their child's surgery, and referred them all to counsellors who would help them handle the emotional shock of a school shooting. He was finished by 12:07. All his patients were taken care of and all the incoming traumas were still being rerouted to Mercy West because of the shooting, so he had been sitting in an on call room for 95 minutes.

Owen sat on the uncomfortable mattress, going over the surgeries he had performed, the treatment plans for his patients, and the possible complications. He wasn't used to having free time and he wasn't taking to it. He was aching to have something to do – surgery, patients, even charts, anything that would keep his mind busy and off of Cristina Yang. He was actually hoping for a kid to start coughing up blood so that he could do something. Owen glanced at his pager hoping that his unspoken wish would take form. The pager remained silent. The time changed to 1:44. Owen heaved a very dramatic breath. He was a terrible person, hoping that a kid would get hurt. He should never wish ill-harm on any one, especially his own patients. He glanced back to the pager to see if his Good Samaritan way of thinking had had an influence. His pager glared back at him without a sound. 1:45.

Owen jumped to his feet. He was sick of sitting. He was sick of doing nothing. He was sick of avoiding Cristina, even in his own thoughts. He was a man. More than that, he was an army man. He had survived in the desert, with the heat and dirt and manly things. He should be able to own up to his own feelings. He should be mature. Yes. Mature. Owen nodded to himself and he sat down on one of the plastic chairs, crossed one leg over the other, and clasped his hands.

Cristina Yang. Owen inhaled steadily. This was going to be harder than he had thought. _Doesn't matter. _He thought to himself. _Power through. Army man. I am an army man. _

_Ok. Cristina Yang. _

Cristina Yang was a good thing. She was smart and beautiful and perfect in many ways. Cristina Yang was just what Owen wanted. _No, needed. _He had already admitted that to himself and he wasn't going to back peddle. _Ok. _He needed her. Owen contemplated this fact to himself. He needed her, so he should go and get her. That was the logical response right?

Yes it was. Ok, so new plan. Get Cristina. He nodded to himself. _Get Cristina._

But what if she didn't want him anymore? He wouldn't blame her for wanting nothing to do with him in both the near and distant future.

Owen sighed. He was right back where he started. _This is dumb. You need her. You need her therefore you get her. You put aside your fears of rejection and loneliness and you get what need. _

He stood up, with a new determination in his heart. _Army man, remember army man. _Owen flexed his hands and prepared to go find _and get _Cristina Yang.


	19. Really not appropriate

_Here's the final chapter of my story!! Now, it may be oh-so-cheesy, but it makes me super duper happy and I love it. So suck it up and enjoy. Thanks so much for reading and I hoped you like it!_

* * *

Cristina hated getting labs. It was a tedious job that was only good for putting interns in their place. She had had her fair share of grunt work when she was at the bottom of the surgical food chain and when she graduated to resident she thought she'd finally be rid of it, but her she was, retrieving lab work.

She had finally got a patient by bullying Alex into giving her one of his only to find that it was a non-operable case. Above that, the kid's mother was a very bossy, worrisome woman who demanded that her son go through all the possible labs to make sure he was healthy. Cristina had tried to convince the women that her son, who's leg had broken in three places when the captain of the school's football team fell on him, would not benefit from a brain scan, but here she was, fetching results like a trained monkey. _Alex is so going to pay. _

Cristina yawned as she crossed the surgical floor. She had been on-call three nights in a row thanks to the school shooting and she hadn't even smelled the inside of an OR to make up for her sleep deprivation. She sped up, willing her body not to be tired, proving to herself that she didn't need a good night sleep to function. She could do anything.

Cristina tried to turn a corner but was taken out by some one who clearly matched her speed and determination. It was the aftershave that gave him away, that and the shock of orange hair. _Shit. _Cristina quickly got to her feet and eyes down whispered an apology before continuing on her way.

"Cristina," He was calling after her. Cristina quickened her pace; she didn't want to do this right now. When she didn't respond, Owen hurried after her, changing his call. "Dr. Yang."

It didn't take him very long to match her speed and once she was in reach he stretched out to stop her from full out running away. Cristina felt his grip on her arm. It wasn't angry or violent, the way it was after their fight in his trauma room. No, this was…different. Cristina's curiosity won the battle against her conscious and she turned to meet him, suspicion in her eyes. He looked hesitant, but determined. His blue eyes were lively and clear and he was slightly out of breath from chasing her down.

"Yes, Dr. Hunt?" She didn't want another public fight that would end in tears and humiliation so Cristina resorted back to her best behaviour; polite, calm, and impassive. She nodded at the passing surgeons, who were glancing at the couple with interest.

"Owen." He gave her a tentative smile that made her heart melt. She fought to keep her face neutral, condescending even. She would let her face betray any emotion but the one she was actually feeling. She settled on confusion with a taste of snobbishness.

"What?"

"You called me Dr. Hunt, but I prefer Owen." Ignoring the looks they were receiving from the hospital surrounding hospital staff, he smiled again. _Oh God. _Cristina had never swooned before but she couldn't help herself. "And I know you don't like Cristina, but I like Owen." When she didn't respond he awkwardly continued, trying to casually fill the silence. "When I was a kid I didn't really like it that much," Cristina felt her face soften as he spoke. "but, uh, then when I was a junior this girl, Tracy Parks, that was her name, and, uh, I had a huge crush on her, it was…huge" He let out an embarrassed chuckle that made Cristina ache before he continued. "Anyways, she was talking to me one day and she said that she thought the name Owen was really," He let out a small cough, "sexy." Why was he telling her all this? Cristina noticed the heat rise to his face. Burke had never been a blusher. "And after that, I don't know, I kind of took to the name a little more." He rubbed the back of his neck which was considerably redder than when he had begun the story, and raised his eyes to meet Cristina's. "So you can call me Owen."

She watched him for a few moments, wondering if he was actually saying what she thought he was. "I don't understand why you're telling me this." She refused to meet his eyes. "I mean, I don't really see the benefit I will have from understanding that you like your name, it's really not-"

"I need you." He cut her off. She glanced up at him and his eyes bore into her own with an intensity that revealed his sincerity. "I really do." The red, which had begun to fade, returned with more concentration. People were staring, but neither Owen nor Cristina noticed.

"But you-"

"I know what I said before, about wanting to have a professional relationship, but I-"

It was her turn to cut him off. "You said that it can never happen, that it wasn't appropriate. And now..."

"And now I'm saying that I was wrong… and stupid. I was definitely stupid. I'm saying that I need you in my life, Cristina."

She eyed him suspiciously. She was never the most trusting person, especially in relationships. _Burn me once…_ "What changed? I practically threw myself at you and you still said you couldn't. Why are you saying all of this now?"

Owen opened his mouth to respond but then closed it again. _He doesn't have an answer. _Cristina directed her eyes to the floor; as much as she was fighting this, she really wanted him to prove her wrong. She wanted him to have an answer.

"I don't really know." His voice disrupted her thoughts and she snapped her eyes back to his, attentive. "This whole time I was doing what I thought was right for me. I didn't think I could handle a relationship, let alone one in the workplace. I didn't think I could cope properly with you. But now I," He paused, just watching her. "I don't think I can cope without you."

Any other person and Cristina would be rolling her eyes at the ridiculous profession of love and responding with heavy sarcasm, but here and now, amidst a majority of her co-workers and superiors, she found herself breathless.

"I don't-"

"And I know that I put you through a lot and I know you probably want to punch me in the face right now, and if you want to, I think I could take it." The corners of her mouth pulled up against her will. "I'm asking for a second chance, really."

"A second chance?" Cristina stared at his open, caring face.

"Yes." His face had fully returned to its original colour. He was confident as he spoke. "And I would be a good boyfriend, I really would." He nodded assuring both Cristina and himself of his earnestness. "I got you a coffee this morning." She _was _right. "Yeah, that was me." Her eyes widened slightly before narrowing again.

"I threw your coffee out."

His reaction surprised her. "Now that's just a waste." He grinned widely and she couldn't help but let out a laugh. He adopted a serious tone. "No really, I paid good money for that coffee. There are starving children in Africa who would kill to have that coffee and you," He pointed an accusing finger in her face, "went and threw it out."

She laughed again as he broke character and joined her. _This felt good. It felt right._ She sobered suddenly and looked up at him with one final question.

"And you won't do it again?" She almost whispered it. She almost didn't say it, but she needed to know.

Owen took a step towards her. "Won't do what?" He was concerned at her abruptly sombre mood.

"Won't leave me," she whispered.

He took her face in both his hands, forcing her eyes to meet his so she could see his sincerity. "I wouldn't dream of it."

Tears pooled in her eyes and she considered the fact that this was the fourth time in three months that this man had made her cry. But this was different from the others, this time they were happy tears. In front of the whole hospital staff, most of which were now watching openly, Cristina threw her arms around Owen's neck and buried her face in his neck. She savoured his smell, the feeling of his arms around her, the roughness of his beard on her sensitive skin. He held onto her tightly, one hand around her waist and the other trying to tame her unmanageable hair. He gently shushed her tears and he rubbed her back. The closeness between them made Cristina sob harder. She was happy. She was so, so happy. He let her cling to him until her tears stopped and she raised her head, wiping her eyes. With a final sniffle she stepped out of his arms and to her dismay, noticed their audience. Owen too seemed to realize the crowd that had formed and began to laugh. She looked at him questioningly. _This is really not funny. _He laughed harder as Cristina tried to regain her composure.

"Why are you laughing?" She practically hissed at him. She was never a fan of the gossip mill that surrounded Seattle Grace and was even less fond of being the main attraction.

Owen took one final look around the room, nodding to Dr. Sloan, Dr. Stevens, and Dr. Bailey, whose faces were a combination of confusion, delight, and amusement, before he hooked his arm around Cristina's waist, pulled her close, and brought his mouth down onto hers. He kissed her with all the passion he could muster, twisting his free hand into her mane of hair.

Cristina's eyes widened with surprise and she tried to push Owen away, thoroughly embarrassed by the public display of affection, but he only kissed her deeper. Cristina finally relented, kissing him back with enthusiasm. She thought she saw Chief Webber out of the corner of her eye but she didn't care. He was here. He was kissing her. She could not be happier.

The end.


End file.
